Equivalent Exchange
by Shadowcatxx
Summary: Ed snatched the envelope from her hand. He made it halfway to the door before stopping, dead: Ed. STOP. Come home now. STOP. Winry's gone. STOP – "We believe that Miss Rockbell is in Xing– sold into the slave trade."
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: Fullmetal Alchemist – Hiromu Arakawa**

**PROLOGUE**

Equivalent exchange!" he blurted suddenly. He swallowed – was he holding his breath? – his cheeks flushed; his amber-gold eyes were watching her anxiously, intensely. "I'll... give you half of my life, if you give me half of yours."

Winry Rockbell had witnessed many strange sights in all of her eighteen years, but her experience didn't prepare her for the, awkwardly-worded, impromptu proposal, which explained – at least, on some level – why Ed had been so quiet all afternoon. She stared at him, her pale lips parted in shocked disbelief; she didn't know what to say, except for: "Argh! why are all alchemists like this?" She collapsed against the train, her hands pressed flat against the locomotive's metallic body. "What kind of idiot are you? Going on about the _law of equivalent exchange_?"

Ed blinked. "Whaa– aaa– at!?"

Winry sighed, a small smile on her face. "You really are dumb," she said. "You want half? I'll give you all of it."

His golden eyebrows arched and his pupils shrank, lips quirking in pleasant surprise.

"Oh!" she realized; this was Ed, after all. "Maybe not all of it. 90%... No, 80% I guess?" She began counting frantically on her slender fingers. "70%... no, more than that. 85% maybe." Her cheeks flushed in flustered embarrassment, daring to glance up at him only when she heard him _laughing_! _I swear to God, Ed; if this is a joke_– She watched him in mounting confusion, until finally she asked: "What!?" in a voice, much higher than intended.

Clutching his stomach, he continued to laugh, trying– gasping, for breath. "Sorry, sorry," he said, waving in apology. "You're really something," he managed. Grinning mischievously, he cupped his chin and leaned toward her, thoughtfully. "I'm going to overturn the _law of equivalent exchange_," he said.

"Huh? What are you talking about? Are you making fun of me?"

He placed his hand on her blonde head affectionately. "No," he said. Then, without warning, he wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her into a warm embrace, burying his face in her pale hair; she slipped her arms around him, clutching the weathered fabric of his overcoat. "You cheered me up," he whispered. "Thanks." She closed her blue eyes, breathing in his tantalizing scent; like soap, firewood and the clean, sharp scent of metal. "See you later," he said, pulling away from her too soon.

"Yeah," she replied, keeping his coat fisted in her hands. She could feel his lips smiling against her cheek, feigning weakness, as if he couldn't escape her grasp.

He shouted again, once aboard the train: "See you later!" which attracted the attention of an older woman, brandishing a broom. "First Alphonse, now Edward is leaving too?" she asked, and sighed. "Those two should settle down for a while."

_Settle down_. Winry smiled; she couldn't seem to stop. "This is what's best for them. Besides," she said, watching the train's iron body shrink into the distance. "A guy who just sits around is boring."

The matron shrugged, unconcerned, and retreated into the train station, leaving the young love-struck girl alone on the platform. Winry remained there, letting the summer-sweet breeze kiss her pale cheeks, blonde ponytail pulling gently in an elegant dance; the lily-pink dress she was wearing spun in a corkscrew around navy-blue leggings when she turned around, readying to return home. The moment she did, however, she was aggressively caught from behind. A strong, masculine arm snaked around her slim middle, while a large, callused hand pressed a shred of dirty cloth over her nose and mouth. Her pupils shrank in fear when she recognized the drug-soaked scent; she struggled futilely, holding her breath until she couldn't hold it any longer, and then gasped in the poison, her eyesight growing fuzzy. _No_! _Please, no_!

As her body lost consciousness, the last thing she thought was: _Ed_.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER ONE**

Edward Elric was dead asleep, golden head pressed against the polished window-glass, his body stretched across both of the opposite-facing, empty seats, when the well-dressed valet tapped him on the shoulder. Ed flinched violently and jolted awake, thrusting out his hand and grabbing the man's collar in reflex; old habits die hard. "Oh, sorry," he relented, releasing the startled man.

"Mr. Elric?" he asked, adjusting his collar. "I'm told that there's a telegram waiting for you at our next station stop. You'll have fifteen minutes to retrieve the message, sir, before the train leaves again." That said, his job completed, the man nodded and strode down the aisle.

Ed yawned in exaggerated boredom. He kicked his legs back over the opposing bench, regretting his lonesomeness; train rides were so dull without company. Unfortunately, Alphonse was away in Xing, studying alkahestry, invited upon personal request of the Emperor, Ling Yao, himself. Ed rolled his eyes; his brother was enjoying the royal treatment, if his modest letters gave any indication, while Ed sat on an over-priced train ticket westbound, alone. But he did have one thing that Al didn't. Secretly, Ed grinned to himself; _like an idiot_, he thought. He wouldn't be gone for nearly as long as Al would be; he could fool himself into believing that they needed him back home, but, without his alchemy, he was next to useless at household chores. He knew that the real reason he wouldn't stay away for long, even if he refused to admit it aloud, was because Winry was waiting for him.

The train whistle blew loud and long, steam bursting into the clean, country sky as it rumbled into the station. Ed grabbed his leather satchel and threw it over his shoulder – he didn't trust the luggage cars – and stalked onto the rain-splattered platform. "Great," he grumbled, missing his red overcoat; this tan one didn't have a hood. Cold raindrops rolling down his cheeks, he wiped them away and walked into the station. "Excuse me," he said, trying to attract attention. The woman behind the window didn't blink, and her assistance ran past him without a second glance. "Hey, kid? Excuse me, there's a– Miss? Can you just–" _This is ridiculous, I'm not even sho–shor– _short_ anymore_! "HEY!" he shouted loudly, slamming his heavy satchel down on the countertop.

The woman flinched. "May I help you?" she asked, sizing him up, unimpressed.

Ed clenched his jaw. "There's a telegram for me, Edward Elric." He showed his identification card.

The woman blinked; the girl beside her popped her bubble-gum obnoxiously. "Oh, yes," she said, searching in a pigeon-holed cabinet for a single, manila envelope. "I believe it's urgent," she said, strolling to the window, unhurriedly. "It came all the way from Central," piped the younger girl, now twirling in her office chair. Ed stretched out his hand. "You're _sure_ you're Edward Elric?" the woman paused.

_If I could still use my alchemy_, Ed thought, short-temperedly, _I'd transmute her head_. "Yes."

The woman exchanged a glance with the messenger boy, who shrugged. "Alright, Mr. Elric."

Ed snatched the envelope from her hand. "Thank-you," he said, sarcastically. The moment that the letter was in his possession, he ripped it open. He made it halfway to the door before stopping, dead:

Ed. STOP. Come home now. STOP. Winry's gone. STOP R. Hawkeye. STOP.

Ed turned and rushed the counter so fast that he nearly toppled over clumsily, golden head-first into the granite. "Hey! Wait!" he shouted, reaching through the opened window. He grabbed the nearest woman's arm and jerked her closer. "Where did you say this telegram came in from? When did you receive it?!"

"I– it came this morning, from Central," she said.

Abruptly, Ed released her. "When's the next train back to Resembool?"

"S-six hours."

He slammed his fist on the countertop angrily, upsetting a collection of black pens; ink splattered and stained the granite. "Damn!" he cursed. Trembling with self-inflicted rage, he breathed in a soothing gulp of moist, rain-heavy air; it didn't calm his shaken nerves, but it did relax the station staff, somewhat. "I need a ticket back to Resembool," he said, definitively. "_Now_."

* * *

"Granny! Granny, where's Winry? What happened to her?!"

Behind her thick glasses, Pinako's eyes captured the floor in a way that could only be described as forlorn. "Ed," she said haltingly; her craggily, old voice was unsettlingly calm. "When Winry left you at the train station yesterday... she didn't come back." Ed's breath caught visibly; Pinako didn't want to continue, but she did: "Winry was taken, Ed."

"Taken?" he managed. "What do you mean, _taken_?"

The old woman raised her rounded chin, clasping her hands behind her back; dignified, even in her short-stature. "She was kidnapped. We're not exactly sure by who," she added, interrupting his hasty reply. "But, according to your friends in Central, she's not the only Amestrian woman who's gone missing; there have been twelve cases in this past month alone. Mustang's men are looking into these mysterious disappearances, of course, but the Colonel's resources are too far-stretched; Amestris is a large country which the government is presently trying to reconstruct, the military can't commit their full attention to something that should be police territory, not with Ishval in–"

"I don't care about Ishval!" Ed shouted. "I care about rescuing Winry!"

Pinako nodded. "I thought you might say that."

"EDWARD ELRIC!" If deep, over-powering and resounding male voices could physically knock people over, Major Armstrong's voice would have. The giant scooped Ed into his beefy arms and squeezed him until Ed was certain that his eyeballs would explode; when he dropped him, disoriented, Ed stumbled on limp legs. "It's just so tragic!" the Major howled sadly. "Two star-crossed lovers, ripped apart on the very eve of their engagement!"

_Don't remind me_, Ed thought, despondently. "Wait a minute, how did you know about–"

"I'm here to take you back to Central so that we can rescue the lovely Miss Rockbell – soon to be Elric," Armstrong mumbled in addition. Ed rolled his golden eyes; did _everybody_ know? Before he could inquire further, however, the Major grabbed his leather satchel in one hand and the back of Ed's coat in the other, and proceeded to drag him through the open door. "Come along, Edward Elric– to Central!"

Exhausted, Ed allowed Major Armstrong to usher him outside. "You know, you don't have to use my full name every time we talk, Major." When they reached the car, Ed climbed into the passenger's seat and hugged his satchel to his chest. "Major?" he inquired. "Do you have a telephone I could use? I want to ask the Colonel to send a telegram to Al, in Xing."

Armstrong's smile was sympathetic. "The Colonel's already ahead of you, Edward. He contacted Alphonse shortly after contacting you, only–"

"What?" Ed asked, his golden eyes narrowing in suspicion. He didn't appreciate secrets, especially those concerning his younger brother, or Winry. "Is Alphonse coming to Central?"

Armstrong heaved a colossal sigh. "He doesn't need to. We believe that Miss Rockbell is in Xing– sold into the slave trade."

* * *

Winry awoke to the high-pitched twanging of a three-stringed _shamisen_, and a heady scent that she didn't recognize; it was sickly sweet and suffocating. Slowly, she opened her sleep-heavy eyes, blinking as the world around her came into hazy focus; dim, yellow gas lamps illuminated a long salon, segregated by decorative paper screens and rich drapes of silk and damask; clothed card tables, round tables, armchairs, and a number of luxurious chaise-longues created a labyrinth of black, lacquered furniture, coiling toward a dais in the centre, like a giant, primordial sleeping serpent. Dizzily, Winry sat up in an attempt to aid her cognitive process; she couldn't fully comprehend her surroundings until she noticed the woman sitting on the bed beside her. It wasn't a dream then, it was real.

"Morning, Amestrian. Sleep well?" she asked, snidely. The woman reminded Winry of the Xingese girl, Lan Fan, if Lan Fan were older, taller, longer-haired, and half-naked. She was thin, and dressed in a traditional silk _kimono_, the decorated fabric slipping off of her tawny shoulders beneath a cascade of pin-strait, black hair; her eyes were dark and almond-shaped, and between her full, coloured lips protruded a long, slim pipe from which she blew coiling smoke into Winry's face.

Winry coughed in meager defense. _Cigarette smoke_? she thought, but dismissed the idea almost instantly. _No. This is something much stronger_. She waved her hand in front of her face to dispel the vile smoke, and asked the young woman: "Who are you? and, where am I?" She clutched her aching temples, feeling ill; her head was pounding like a drum. "The last thing I remember is–" She gasped.

"Painful, isn't it? When the memory comes flooding back." The woman inhaled another mouthful, of smoke, tapping her long, polished fingernails against the pipe. "I'm Ruby," she said, and then, gesturing cordially, added: "And this is _The Red Dragon_, the highest-grossing and most disreputable opium den in south-east Xing." Lips that rivalled her namesake smiled with malevolent humour.

"Opium den?" Winry repeated; the words tasted foreign on her tongue.

"Yes. I really wish I didn't have to tell you, you seem like a sweet girl – and a pretty, young thing; how old are you? Seventeen, eighteen? Yes, eighteen then – but you, like the rest of us, have been sold by the smugglers into slavery." She nodded solemnly, feigning grief that reminded Winry of theatrical masks. "Just look at yourself? Already a far cry from what you were before, don't you think?"

For the first time since waking, Winry inspected the _kimono_ wrapped around her body, tied at the waist over nothing but her naked skin. She jolted up, startled. This wasn't what she'd been wearing today at the train station; today – or yesterday? _How long have I been unconscious_? she thought. _And how did I become their doll without waking_? Winry was a light sleeper. She looked at Ruby for intelligence, but the other woman only smiled, and asked: "So, who were you, Amestrian, before the smugglers snatched you? A flower-girl? A banker's daughter? A woman of ill-repute?"

"I was, _am_, an automail mechanic," she replied, absently. She was searching the _kimono_ for signs of familiarity, but found none; they had even removed her earrings.

"An automail mechanic?" said Ruby, her nose scrunched; but her obvious distaste quickly melted into intrigue. "I've never met a woman mechanic before, just where do you come from, Amestrian?"

"Resembool, I doubt that you've ever heard of it. And stop calling me _Amestrian_," Winry snapped in annoyance. "My name is Winry Rockbell."

"Ah," said Ruby, holding up her index finger. "Your name _was_ Winry Rockbell."

Winry's forehead creased in apprehension. "What do you mean?"

Ruby sucked on the pipe's tip, and then exhaled smoke in Winry's direction. "A pretty Amestrian girl like you? Young as you are, and with your long, blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and flawless, pale skin? You'll fetch a lovely price, more than I'll ever see from this place; Xingese men like the taste of exoticism." She smiled ruefully, but there was sadness in her eyes. "If you're lucky, you won't remain _Winry_ for long." Winry crossed her arms in defiance, provoking a chuckle from Ruby's painted lips; she lifted an arched eyebrow and asked: "Are you afraid?"

"No," Winry answered without hesitation. "I'm not."

Ruby inhaled. Cryptically, she said: "Yes, you'll fetch a lovely price, indeed."

Infuriated, Winry rose from the bed, standing on jellied legs that threatened to collapse beneath her. She hitched the too-large _kimono _above her ankles and brushed aside a translucent, orange-tinted curtain, deciding to explore the potential possibilities for escape. She didn't see any doors in the long, dark room, but she didn't see any guards either; the nearest patrons didn't even seem to notice her presence, as she moved carefully around them, so as not to disturb their peaceful, hallucinogenic dreams. Before she could fully commence her search, however, Ruby's rosy voice gave her pause.

"I only have one more question, Amestrian."

Winry glanced antagonistically over her shoulder. "What?" she snapped.

Ruby's dark eyes captured her, seriously: "You talk in your sleep. Who's _Ed_?"

* * *

It was half-past midnight when Ed stormed into Colonel Mustang's private office, but, in anticipation of interruption, the Colonel was already waiting in a tall, wingback leather armchair, and holding his silver timepiece on a long chain between his fingers; the symbol of a State Alchemist winking in the opalescent moonlight. "Fullmetal," said Roy Mustang, somewhat perturbed. "You're late, and here I was obliged to wait for you." Gently, he swung the watch like a pendulum.

"Colonel," said Ed, ignoring the lighthearted mockery; his nerves were too anxious for idle play. "Is what Major Armstrong said true, sir? Is Winry really in Xing? What information can you give me about her whereabouts, Colonel? What evidence do you have?"

Mustang sighed, steepling his fingers. "One question at a time, Fullmetal. I understand that you're anxious about your... _friend_, but yelling at me won't help her situation any – though it might make _you_ feel better." He shrugged. "Miss Rockbell was last seen at the Resembool train station, but you know that, don't you? What we know is that she likely disappeared just after the 2:00pm train departed, and hasn't been seen or heard from since; there was no evidence at the scene, but–" Mustang continued; Ed's teeth were clenched as tightly as his fists – "we do have reason to suspect a Xingese organization in the business of human trafficking. Winry's personal profile, and the particular conduct of her disappearance is similar to some other cases we've recently been dealing with, which have left more tangible evidence."

"Personal profile? What does that mean?" Ed asked.

Mustang exchanged a glance with Armstrong, who crossed his arms and nodded encouragement. "Well, most of the missing persons fit a certain physical profile; they're all young girls between the ages of fifteen and twenty, most of them are of fair colouring – blonde hair with blue or green eyes, pale-skinned – and conventionally attractive."

Ed pinched the bridge of his nose; he was so tired. "Let me see if I understand you, Colonel. Winry was abducted by a Xingese underworld organization that specialize in the sale of young, Amestrian girls?"

"Yes."

His eyes smoldered, like molten gold. "Sale – for _what_?"

Mustang shifted awkwardly; behind him, Major Armstrong saluted the Colonel and proceeded to escape. "Well! Would you look at the time? I had better be going. Good luck Edward Elric!" He succeeded, unscathed. The emblazoned door closed behind him, and the silence of the near-empty room stretched; Mustang wasn't much of an interior decorator. The only accessory he seemed accustomed to keeping at his side at all times boasted big, chocolate-brown eyes and a P226 Sauer pistol. When it became clear that Mustang was reluctant to answer Ed's question, Lieutenant Hawkeye stepped forward, and reported: "The Xingese underworld is infamously involved within a number of illicit trades, but their most prominent is opium. Likely, Winry's been sold into an opium den as a serving-girl, forced labour, but," – she glanced at Ed sympathetically – "in such places, it's a short jump from serving-girl to prostitution."

Ed closed his angry eyes, grasping desperately for calm. _That's not going to happen_, he promised; _I won't let it happen._

"We've contacted your brother in Xing," Mustang resumed. Ed's gaze shifted; yes, Al was already in Xing. "He's been granted permission by the Emperor to investigate the businesses most probable to incorporate Amestrian women."

"Not just Amestrian," Hawkeye corrected. "If we're delving into this underworld business outside of our own borders, we can't afford to discriminate between Amestrian and Xingese women; after all," she said, solemnly. "The Xingese enslaved their own people first, and I wouldn't be surprised to find that a few Ishvalan women had been abducted either."

"Yes. I understand the situation, Lieutenant. But, whether we like it or not, Xing doesn't belong to us, and therefore we cannot admit military forces without the Emperor's permission; otherwise, it would look too much like a foreign attempt to occupy the country. I'm afraid that it would only remind the Xingese clans too much of our previous occupation of Ishval," said Mustang, resentfully. "The Emperor couldn't possibly grant us permission to admit military without losing political support, for the very same reason."

"Then what do you propose we do?!" Ed snapped; he hadn't the time to waste on military strategy. If what Hawkeye had said was true, then Winry was in serious danger; what if Al couldn't find her in time? "Why did you bring me here if you had no intention of helping me, Colonel?"

Mustang unfolded his hands. "Calm down, Fullmetal. I didn't say I had no intention of helping." That said, he stood and crossed the sparsely furnished room to a tall, bourgeois cabinet mounted on the wall, and from inside extracted a simple, white envelope. Ed grimaced when Mustang presented it to him; he'd had quite enough of letter-sized envelopes. "It's a traveler's visa, and an international letter of merit permitting the State Alchemist Edward Elric to enter Xing on the grounds of studying Xingese alkahestry. It's your ticket into Xing, and an excuse to go snooping around once inside."

Ed stared at the simple, sealed letter with an expression somewhere between scientific fascination and naive bewilderment. "But, Colonel, I'm not even a State Alchemist anymore," he admitted reluctantly. "I can't even transmute the simplest–"

"I'm aware of the sacrifices you've made, Ed; but you've forgotten more about alchemy than most men can't remember in a lifetime. Call yourself an honorary member," Mustang said. His disciplined face didn't smile, but his diamond-black eyes betrayed an encouraging spark.

Ed held the letter in one hand, while searching in his deep, tan overcoat pocket with the other. He pulled out his old, silver watch and gazed between the two; true, he couldn't transmute anymore – he'd sacrificed his prodigious alchemical talent in exchange for his brother's body two years before– but that didn't mean that Edward Elric had been rendered helpless. "Colonel," he began in thanks, but Mustang interrupted. Winry was in danger; there was little time for sentiment.

"I recommend you catch some sleep, Fullmetal. Tomorrow you leave for Xing."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER TWO**

Al fell face-first into a scattered mess of maps in exhaustion, his forehead bumping against the covered tabletop in feigned defeat. "Xing is _huge_!" he insisted, spreading his arms across the work of three days. "Look at all of this, Mei; tea houses, show houses, theatres, shops and marketplaces, dress-makers, apothecaries, brothels! – but no opium dens."

"Well, did you really expect to find _opium dens_ on a map?" asked Mei Chang. "That's not exactly how the underworld advertises." Sweeping aside a collection of weathered and dusty old maps, she placed a delicate cup of steaming rose-tea in front of him, which he dutifully ignored. The young girl sighed. "Al, you've hardly slept or ate anything for almost three days, you need to rest or you'll lose your strength."

Al raked his hands through his thick, golden hair, rumpled like a lion's majestic mane; he needed to get it cut again soon, or risk mirroring his brother's outlandish appearance, he thought fondly. To Mei, he said: "I can't rest. Winry is my best friend and she's in trouble."

"I know," she said. Kindly, she knelt down on the plush cushion beside him. "But working yourself sick isn't going to help anyone. Alphonse, what happens when our brains don't get enough rest? They stop working properly." She raised a black eyebrow pointedly; fifteen-years-old, and already the overprotective matron and hostess. Despite the despotism of the situation, her concern warmed his sentimental heart.

"I know," Al relented, lifting the teacup. "I just wish that brother was here, he'd know what to do."

"ALPHONSE!" The door burst open aggressively, and Ed jumped through the opening, stumbling in his haste. He looked absolutely ragged; dark crescents bruised the skin beneath his wild-looking, gold eyes, as if he'd suffered less sleep than Al had. "Al! Al, I'm here. What've you found? Where's Winry?" he demanded, bracing his hands against the covered tabletop, eyes searching the maps spread thereupon.

"Well," Mei mumbled, "speak of the devil."

Al's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Brother?" he asked, uncertainly. When he received no response, he tried: "Ed?" and, placing a hand on Ed's shoulder, leaned down over the maps. He pointed, fruitlessly. "There's nothing, I've been searching for three days and haven't found anything," he admitted. "Except..." When he took too long to find a scrap of severed notebook-paper, upon which he'd written an address, Ed began rearranging the collection frantically in an ill-advised attempt to help. "Ed," Al said, easing his older brother down into the only standing chair. "You need to calm down; take a deep breath."

"Calm down? Al, I'm fine," he shrugged, feigning composure. Al raised a golden eyebrow, unconvinced. "Really, I'm just a little worried about Winry . I have reason to believe that she might be..." he swallowed, "in trouble."

Al squeezed his shoulder. "I know. Here," he said, dropping the paper scrap in front of him. "This is the only lead I've found. It's the address of an inauspicious tea house in the east-end where a man called Yhan sells laudanum, which is the raw substance containing opium alkaloids; once refined it becomes–"

"Yes, I know what laudanum is!" Ed snapped. When he realized his mistake, he sighed. "Sorry."

Al nodded, the apology accepted. "Anyway, I have it on good authority that this Yhan character is a supplier to the shadier opium dens in Xing."

Ed frowned. "Who's _good authority_?"

* * *

"Edward Elric!" said Ling Yao, hands spread wide in welcome. Beside him, stoic as a caryatid stone-figure, stood his bodyguard, Lan Fan, black eyes watchful. "It's really good to see you, Ed; I'm just sorry that the circumstance of our reunion is so bleak–" Lan Fan elbowed him gently in the ribs, and young Emperor Ling quickly continued: "Well, not _bleak_ exactly; hopeful, really. I mean, I'm sure that Miss Rockbell is..."

"How about something to eat!" Mei clapped her hands hospitably.

"Yes! Now that does sound good. C'mon Ed, we'll–"

Ed shoved off Ling's arm and circled around him. "I'm not hungry," he said, impatiently. "I'm not tired, I'm not sick– I'm waiting for someone to take me into the east-end so that I can rescue Winry– and, all of the other girls who've been abducted," he added, flushing. In self-defense, he crossed his arms and marched to the arched doorway, where Second-Lieutenant Maria Ross and Sergeant Denny Brosh, stood waiting; Mustang had insisted that they accompany Ed across the dessert, to assure that he didn't get _lost_! "Al," he prompted, eagerly. Al nodded.

"Take Lan Fan with you," Ling suggested.

The woman paused. "My lord?" she asked; there was disfavour in her voice.

Ling smiled. "Don't worry, I'll be perfectly fine," he promised. "Take Ed and Al into the east-end, and I'll keep Second-Lieutenant Ross and Sergeant Brosh here with me, okay?"

Lan Fan swallowed discomfort. "If that is my lord's wish," she said, bowing her head respectfully.

"Yes, excellent!" said Ling, cocking his index finger forward. Ross and Brosh scrambled to comply. "Come along, my new friends– lunch awaits us."

"You're really going to _lunch_? While your country's people are being snatched right off the streets by human traffickers and sold into slavery?" Ed gaped. "I can't believe you, don't you ever care about–"

Ling silenced him with a piercing glare, fueled with unadulterated bitterness. "I am well aware of the situation that my country presently finds itself in, Ed. And, I promise you, I am doing everything in my power to remedy it; these Xingese women who've been abducted are my responsibility," he said, his voice seething with passion. "It makes me sick to know that they've been pushed to the bottom of my priorities as Emperor. I've hardly slept since taking the damnable position, I've fainted twelve times from hunger; everything I have, I have for the good of my people! So, don't you _ever _accuse me of not caring!"

Ed opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He had to remind himself that he wasn't the only one upset by the situation. "I'm sorry, Ling. I didn't mean to criticize you."

Ling's expression changed so quickly, it made Ed dizzy. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" asked the Emperor with a friendly smile.

Ed nodded. "Yes. C'mon Al, Lan Fan."

"If you discover anything, or need my help, send Lan Fan back to me," Ling said, though his tone suggested an order rather than a request. The woman nodded in understanding; she would resign herself to playing messenger if that is what her lord commanded. "Oh, and Ed?" Ling added. "Good luck."

The Xingese bodyguard guided the Elric brothers through the crowded streets of East Xing; like a graceful black-cat, she weaved through hurrying pedestrians, cars, and two-wheeled carts, dodging down narrow alleys and jumping up onto the rooftop to avoid an overturned vegetable carriage. Ed and Al had difficulty keeping pace with the agile woman, who was familiar with the busy territory; Ed clawed his way through the throngs of hustling pedestrians with breathless shouts of _excuse me_! _pardon me_! and _MOVE_! "Jeeze," he sighed, when he and Al had caught up to Lan Fan. "When did people stop understanding the phrase: _get the hell out of my way_?"

Al shrugged. "Is this the place?" he asked Lan Fan. She nodded. "According to Ling, finding Yhan in this place is a long-shot, but, like I said, it's the only lead that we've got." That said, he followed Ed into the dimly-lit tea-house, smelling strongly of herbs; there were a few customers, a tired-looking waitress and a barista smoking a cigarette while brewing water in a fat, whistling kettle. "Excuse me," said Al.

The barista exhaled smoke and smiled cattily. "Aren't you cute?" she said, licking her lips. "What can I get you, sweetheart?"

"Oh." Al flushed uncomfortably. "Well, we... err..."

"We're looking for Yhan," Ed interrupted. "Can you tell us where to find him?"

The woman took a long drag on her cigarette, eyeing Ed suspiciously. "I've never seen any of you here before," she said.

Ed clenched his jaw. "Of course you haven't," he retorted impatiently. "This city has over a million people in it, I'm surprised you've seen anyone twice. Now, do you know where we can find him?"

Exhaling smoke, the woman lifted the kettle and proceeded to pour the steaming water into the waiting teacups. "Sorry boys, I can't help you. Not without–" She flinched when Lan Fan threw down a big canvas purse of jangling coins. The barista's eyebrows shot into her hairline in surprise; she regarded the three strangers with renewed intrigue. With a polished finger she lifted the purse's hem and snagged a gold coin for inspection, and then narrowed her eyes. "Who are you people?"

"Strangers," Ed answered flatly. "Do you interrogate all of your customers?" She grimaced. "Now," he continued. "I don't want to ask you again: where's Yhan?"

Her eyes shifted, and she bit her bottom lip. "Am I going to get in trouble?" she asked, sheepishly.

Al smiled. "No, you're not going to get into any trouble, not if you tell us what we need to know. See, we really need your help to find our friend, we believe that she's been abducted," he added, gambling on the woman's sympathy.

The barista swallowed. "My sister was abducted," she admitted. "Four years ago, I haven't seen or heard from her since." Miserably, she snubbed out her cigarette and opted for a breath of herbal-scented air. "If you find your friend, will you put an end to the abductions?"

Ed swallowed. He wouldn't lie to her. "We'll try."

His words might've been ambiguous, but his expression, his eyes, promised what she needed to see. "Yhan always comes in after midnight," she told them. "He sits in that chair in the corner and orders black tea, always the same. He stays until his tea is gone, usually fifteen to twenty minutes, that's all."

"Thanks," Ed said, rapping the countertop in good faith. A vibrant orange sun was setting through the milky windows behind him, but midnight was still three hours away.

"Well?" Al asked. "We wait?"

Ed nodded. "We wait."

They waited for nearly four hours; above them, the clock struck twelve forty-five before a skinny, short man in a long, black overcoat strode into the tea-house. He sat down in the corner and received his tea without ordering, lifting the cup to his lips; when he drank, his bony cheeks became concave, evidence of malnourishment. He fidgeted incessantly, eyes blinking, fingernails tapping the tabletop as he sipped his ink-black tea. His persona was so conspicuous that Ed thought the barista's discrete indication was a little redundant. He waited until the man was halfway finished his tea, and then stood, as if preparing to leave. He walked past the man, turned around abruptly, and sat down on the bench-seat across from him. Yhan lifted an unfriendly eyebrow in question. He wasn't, Ed figured, a man who frequented human interaction.

"Yhan?" Ed asked, folding his hands like he'd seen Colonel Mustang do. The man didn't answer. "I need a favour from you, Yhan. I need you to tell me exactly which underworld opium dens are in the habit of kidnapping attractive young women and using them as drug-addicted slaves," he said, bluntly.

Predictably, Yhan leapt to his feet and attempted to run. Ed sighed, and kicked his leg out to stop him; then he threw his fist into the retreating man's stomach and forced him onto his knees. He punched him in the face when Yhan cursed. "Brother," said Al, reaching forward futilely.

"Sorry Al, but we don't have time for negotiations," Ed said. "Now, those opium dens?" When the man spit at him insultingly, Ed grabbed the front of his overcoat and shook him violently. "Tell me where my friend is you crooked little _runt_!" he shouted, glorying in the fact that he could. "Where's Winry?!"

"I have no idea!" Yhan finally gasped, angry. "Do you really think I remember every blonde-haired Amestrian girl that The Dragon snatches? She's probably lying on some dirty floor sucking in smoke to forget her recent initiation into prostitution."

Ed punched him hard in the face; Yhan's nose cracked, broken. "If you don't tell me where to find her right _now_, I'm going to transmute your tiny, little–" He stopped; _nothing, I can't transmute anything_. "You know what, forget it," he said, and thrust his knee up into his victim's nose; fresh blood exploded, freckling Yhan's pale face with red. The laudanum-dealer cursed loudly, moaning in a manner that made Ed want to punch him again. He raised his fist, but before he could throw it, Al grabbed his wrist.

"Wait!" he said, staring at Yhan. "Who's _The Dragon_?"

Yhan's bottom lip trembled, his disfigured nose scrunched in resentful fury. In self-defense, and in his irrational desire to hurt Ed, he had let slip the name of one of his most important and dangerous buyers. "_The Red Dragon_," said Lan Fan suddenly, who had remained characteristically quiet until now. "I know that name; it's a Xingese salon – a tavern," she clarified.

Ed grinned triumphantly. Yhan glared at him, anger morphing into malice when he realized that they weren't going to kill him. "You know?" he sneered, attracting Ed's attention. "I hope that The Dragon does have your girl, because if he does, you won't want her back."

* * *

Winry screamed, but nobody heard her. Not until the brutish man above her pulled her face out of the icy water. She choked, gasping desperately for a mouthful of air; she glimpsed the man's blurry reflection on the black water's surface before her head was submerged again. She knew that she was crying salty tears, but couldn't comprehend any earthly emotion outside of fear; she shook her head wildly, arms clawing at the strong hand grasping her blonde hair.

"If you _ever_ insult a customer again," he growled, pulling her head out of the water. "I'll–"

She didn't wait; she grabbed a handheld garden rake lying nearby and smashed it into his temple; it wasn't a wrench, but it provoked an enraged yell from her assailant just the same.

"Bitch!" he snarled, and backhanded her across the face. The force of the blow knocked her down, eyes watering in pain, but she _wouldn't_ cry; not for him. She did, however, shriek when he seized a chunk of her hair, readying to slap her again, when a sharp, commanding voice stopped him.

"Zeta!" he snapped. "What did I tell you about her face? Her pretty Amestrian face is the money-maker; nobody wants to buy a woman with bruises. Do _not_ disfigure her face!"

The brutish Zeta bowed his head. "Yes, sir."

The Dragon knelt down onto his haunches and cupped Winry's chin. "You're becoming a problem, _Winry_. I can't have you insulting my customers, or breaking plates over their heads; it's bad for business," he said, conversationally, as if she weren't huddled on the ground, half-naked and bruised. "I think we've reached an impasse in our relationship," he continued, grabbing her forearm. She struggled, but his grasp was too strong. "It's time– to try– something– new," he said, producing an injection needle.

"What is _that_?!" she panicked. "It's impossible to inject opium, you can't–"

"It's an especially distilled serum that I've fabricated with a little research, ah! There we are," he said, piercing Winry's vein. She screamed, too afraid to move; the liquid was hot and stung fiercely when it entered her body. "I find that the effects are instantaneous if it's injected directly into the bloodstream."

Winry's body began to tremble in response to the foreign substance; she blinked, trying to shake dizziness from her head, her eyesight blurring. "No, no– what did you... Why is the world spinning?" she cried, clutching her forehead with her freed hand. "You bastard!" she said, tears relentlessly spilling from her eyes. "Ed..." she whimpered, unbeknownst of her satisfied yet curious audience. She could feel herself losing consciousness. When The Dragon released her arm, extracting the needle, she crumpled into a ball on the ground, her shaking fingers grasping her neck, her dry lips, her cheek, and ears, but her earrings were gone; _no, not my earrings..._ she thought, sadly – absently._ Ed and Al bought them for me._

When she awoke, she was lying in a narrow twin-bed with Ruby staring down at her. "First time's the worse time," she said, brushing back Winry's silky hair. "What on earth did you do?"

Winry blinked fuzziness from her eyes; her head was pounding. "A drunk man tried to grope me, so I smashed a plate over his head," she said.

Ruby rolled her dark eyes. "Listen, Amestrian. You've got to stop fighting back, you're going to get yourself killed," she said, showing Winry her reflection in a polished, handheld mirror. There was an ugly, purple bruise discolouring her pale cheek, her lips were dry, and her blue eyes were feverish, lacking their characteristic spitfire. "Sweetie, you need to accept that this is your life now; he's _not_ coming for you."

Winry slapped her tawny hand away. "Yes he is! It's why I'm not afraid."

"Well, you should be afraid," Ruby said, unfolding her legs from beneath her. She stood, sucking on her pipe's end, despite its emptiness; she held it between her lips, thoughtfully. "He'll search for a while, but soon enough, when he realizes that it's useless, he'll give up, because that's what they do," she said angrily. "Do you really think that you're worth him getting mixed up in the Xingese underworld for? Pretty girls like you are a dime-a-dozen," she sneered, biting down on the lacquered pipe. Winry watched the woman's dark eyes, full of sadness; she looked so lonely and, despite her present situation and her unending ridicule, Winry's heart went out to her. "Don't look at me like that," Ruby snapped. "Don't pity me; give it a few months and you'll _be_ me."

Winry shook her head. "You're wrong."

Ruby narrowed her eyes. "Why?" she asked. When Winry diverted her eyes, capturing the floor, Ruby sat down beside her on the sunken bed mattress. More softly, with unexpected kindness, she said: "Tell me why, Winry."

Winry hugged her middle, suddenly she felt cold. _I can't believe that the first person I'm going to tell is an opium-addicted prostitute_."The day that I was abducted my best friend asked me to marry him," she said. Her breath caught, and suddenly she found herself fighting back a fresh flood of tears. Saying the words aloud had suddenly, somehow, made them real; Edward Elric had actually asked her to _marry_ him. _And if Ruby's right, I might never see him again_– _No_! she scolded herself. _I won't think like that, I can't._ Ed would never abandon her; he _wouldn't_.

She felt Ruby's hand squeeze her shoulder supportively, but, before the woman could speak, she was interrupted. The door crashed open, revealing Zeta who filled the doorframe with his impressive bulk. When he stepped aside, The Dragon walked in, hands crossed casually behind the back of an expensive black suit. "Winry, are you familiar with the alchemical term: _equivalent exchange_?" he asked. Raising his finger in explanation, he began to pace back and forth across the small room. "Your Amestrian alchemists abide by the law of _equivalent exchange_, the law that requires sacrifice in order to gain. What you might not know is that the underworld also abides by this universal concept." He paused, smiling slyly. Winry watched him suspiciously, confusion colouring her facade and making her feel nervous; _just what are you planning to do_? she wondered. "Now, Zeta," The Dragon continued, unperturbed. "I do believe it's past time that we introduced Miss Winry to the underworld version of _equivalent exchange_, don't you agree? It's really quite similar," he reassured her, cynically. "You see, my salon patrons will pay me a certain price in exchange for your lovely... _company_. I figure that you'll be worth 20,000 cenz the first time," he said, eyeing her lustfully. "And 10,000 cenz every time after that."

Winry gasped. Ruby's fingers grasped her shoulder tightly, in warning: _don't do anything stupid, not this time_. Heedlessly, Winry ripped herself away from Ruby, her hands bawled into angry fists as the man, Zeta, who was easily four-times her size, backed her into a corner. "You wouldn't," she said, choking on fear. "You can't– don't! Don't touch me! Let me go!" she shrieked. He didn't listen, nor did he abide by any form of common courtesy; the giant simply stalked forward, grabbed her around the waist, and threw her unceremoniously over his broad shoulder. She beat his back, eyes searching desperately for a weapon, but there was nothing outside of bed linens and inexpensive cosmetics. "Please don't!" she begged The Dragon, who ignored her.

"Ruby?" he said, as he and his colleague were leaving. "Don't you have somewhere to be? Greeting customers, perhaps? There's a pair of young Amestrian boys who've just come into the foyer, travellers I expect. It's a shame they're not women, really; they've got the most peculiar gold-colouring I've ever seen."

* * *

The woman who greeted Ed and Al at the entrance was tall and attractive, with long, black hair and dark eyes, and wearing a revealing confection of fiery red silk. Lan Fan had obeyed her given orders and rushed immediately back to the imperial palace to alert Ling and the two Amestrian officers of their shocking discovery, and so it was only the two Elric brothers whom the woman ushered into the posh salon. They allowed her to lead them to a secluded round-table, but denied ordering anything to eat, drink, or smoke; rather, they chided her instead for information. "The Dragon," said Ed, keeping an unyielding expression. "We need to ask him something."

The woman's smooth poker-face was impressive. "I'm sorry," she smiled. "But The Dragon isn't in residence. Perhaps someone else's company would sate your appetite? Perhaps mine?" she said, smiling suggestively.

"Listen," Ed said, grabbing her reaching wrist. "We're not interested in anyone's _company_. We're here to find our friend, and we're not leaving here until we have her, so, you might as well abandon the act and tell your employer that we're waiting for him, that's the easy way. Otherwise, we'll have to do this the hard way," he said, shifting so that she could glimpse the sharp, metal blade shoved up his right coat-sleeve. Her eyes lifted in surprise, and Ed grinned; cold metal never failed to have the desired effect.

"You're Ed, aren't you?" she asked in bewilderment; apparently, it wasn't the blade that'd shocked her, after all.

His grin vanished in astonishment. Al gasped: "How did you know that?!"

Without a word, the woman's eyes glanced discretely to the balcony above them, indicating where a number of well-dressed bodyguards were congregating, eyeing the Amestrian newcomers suspiciously. Anxiously, she pulled her wrist out of Ed's grasp, and he let her. "I'm sorry," she said, retreating hastily.

Ed jumped up, drawing unwanted attention. "Wait!"

"Brother!" Al whispered fiercely. Rescuing Winry was their priority, but neither of them wanted to spill blood to do it; besides, a confrontation would only slow them down. The hard way, indeed.

Ed nodded in quick understanding, but didn't cease his pursuit. "She's here, isn't she? Our friend, Winry?" he dared to specify.

She stopped dead. Ed followed her gaze and realized at the same time that Al did that every exit had been blocked; bodyguards waited in every thin doorway, surrounding the luxurious tavern in order to apprehend the two Amestrian strangers before they could cause further trouble. The woman backed up slowly, and, very discretely, pushed a collection of metal rings into Ed's hand: Winry's earrings, the ones that he had bought for her. _Yes_, _she is here_. Ed clutched them tightly in one hand, while brandishing his knife with the other. "Alright Al," he said, smiling in anticipation. "The hard way it is."


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER THREE**

Zeta threw Winry down on a bed of much better quality than the one that she and Ruby shared. The mattress was firm and plush, flanked by spiralling pillars and a wooden headboard, and the sheets were soft cotton that smelled of clean, Xingese laundry soap; details that Winry was subconsciously aware of, determinedly struggling for freedom as Zeta forced her immobile with his weight. "Well, you're a pistol, aren't you?" he said, fishing for an injection needle filled with The Dragon's serum. "We don't like that here." Despite her protests, he shoved the needle into Winry's vein and let the fiery liquid pump into her blood-steam, stealing her fight. When he was finished, he climbed off of her and left her lying dizzily on the bed. "The first customer paid a fortune for you, you know. So try not to disappoint him; _The Red Dragon_ has a reputation to uphold, after all."

He closed the oak door and locked it; Winry heard the click, though her vision was fuzzy. In futile retaliation, she chucked a pillow at his retreating back, which bounced harmlessly off of the closed door and fell to the floor. _Must escape_, she thought, blinking madly. The pale, gaslights overhead served only to inhibit her sight; she groped around on the bed until she found the edge, then tumbled clumsily onto the floor. Her body felt weak; she tried to stand, using the bedpost for balance, but she no longer possessed the strength or coordination to do so. She felt disoriented, completely helpless, clawing at her punctured arm resentfully, as if she might purge the poison from her blood-stream, when, suddenly, the door re-opened and a tall, black-haired man with an unfamiliar, blurry face entered the room.

"Keep away from me!" she spat, crawling backwards in escape. He laughed, genuinely amused.

"Relax, love. I'm not going to hurt you," he said, reaching for her. His touch was hot and dry, his fingers long; it felt _wrong_. He ensnared her ankle, dodging a misaimed kick, and pulled her toward him, across the polished hardwood; the silken _kimono_ slipped up and over her thigh, revealing her unprotected skin beneath. "C'mon," he said, smiling. "I paid a fair price for you, the least that you could do is cooperate with me– you'll enjoy yourself more if you do."

Heart pounding, she closed her eyes. She didn't want to see, she didn't want to hear or feel; she just wanted to go home.

"That's better," he said, satisfied. "Now, just–"

He screamed; warm blood splattered her face. Daringly, she opened her eyes and saw a silhouette who's golden hair shone platinum in the gaslight. _Was she dreaming_? _Hallucinating_? "Ed?" she dared.

"_Winry_!" His voice was so familiar; so was his scent, his touch when he shoved aside the injured patron and knelt down beside her. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" he asked, frantically inspecting her.

Rather than answer him, she collapsed against his chest and wrapped her arms around his middle in happy relief. "Ed!" she cried, her fingers clutching his overcoat with fierce determination. "I knew that you'd come for me, I _knew _it!" In reply, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, hugging her protectively against his warm body. "Please," she begged him. "Get me out of here, Ed. I want to go home; just take me home."

* * *

"Sure," he promised; it was a promise that he fully intended to keep. Ignoring the man curled up on the floor, moaning in agony – the knife wound staining his shoulder red with sticky blood – Ed stood, pulling Winry up with him. She was weak. Her thin body's strength had been stolen from her by the same people who had left the purpling bruise on her cheek. Ed clenched his jaw in anger, fuelled when he saw the two puncture wounds on her pale arm. They'd done something terrible to her, drugged her; that must've been why her eyes were bloodshot and her movements clumsy. When she stumbled, unbalanced, he steadied her, offering her his arm for support; he wrapped it around her slim stomach and half walked her, half dragged her from the dark, yet luxurious room. They were leaving this place together; he would carry her if he had to. "We have to hurry," he warned, aware of the urgency lacing his tone. "Before–"

An explosion of hot fire ignited the hanging drapery around them like burning flags; smoke coiled from the flames, licking the walls and ceiling, and Ed's overcoat. "Edward Elric," said The Dragon. He was standing amid the fiery chaos, hands hanging casually from his trouser pockets, as if he was after inviting the Amestrian couple to midmorning tea. "I do believe you're trying to steal my property," he said, cocking his head in disappointment. "You see, I bought that woman from a group of freelance smugglers for quite a greedy sum; _equivalent exchange_," he lectured, lifting his ringed index finger pointedly. "I'm sorry, _boy_, but I can't have you running away with my investment now, can I?"

"Get out of my way!" Ed threatened.

The Dragon laughed. "Or what?" Without warning, numerous coils of serpentine flames shot past their Xingese master and charged the famous Fullmetal Alchemist, who could no longer perform alchemy.

"ED!" Winry screamed. He whipped around and braced himself protectively over her, shielding her with his own body. He needn't have bothered. Sparks licked his skin, but otherwise the stone barrier which burst up behind him left them both unscathed.

"Brother! Winry!" Al said, still kneeling with his hands braced against the floor. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, thanks Al," said Ed gratefully, as the temporary barrier crumbled. "So," he said, facing The Dragon with more confidence than before; Al remained kneeling behind him on the floor, in case another transmutation circle was needed. "You're an alchemist, are you? And here I didn't think that Amestrian alchemy was very popular here in Xing." The Dragon smiled, and lifted his hand, which held a medallion emblazoned with a small transmutation circle. "You're a flame alchemist?" He recognized the technique. "I thought that Colonel Mustang was the last of that breed."

"A shame that your misinformation will kill you," The Dragon replied. Swinging the medallion, he loosed a second wave of red-orange heat.

Al blocked it– but just. "C'mon!" he shouted, indicating the exit. "I think that we've overstayed our welcome."

Ed agreed. He didn't want to show The Dragon his back, didn't want to retreat like a coward, but they needed to regroup; as much as it pained him, Ed couldn't combat the flame alchemist without risking himself and Winry. Hastily, he scooped her into his arms and dashed after his brother into the shadows. They ran into the courtyard, gulping down breaths of fresh air, and then hurried down a corridor and into the adjoining salon. "Get down!" he shouted, pulling Al by the collar; his back bumped into the wall to avoid a torrent of flames, his arms wrapped around Winry and Al. "Where the hell's the exit?!" he asked, blinking.

Al coughed; smoke was rising. Gambling, he gestured in a direction that led them first to a dead-end, and then in a full circle; back into the open-air courtyard they ran, where they gasped gulps of fresh-er breaths of oxygen. "Did we lose him?" he panted, hands braced on his knees.

"There's an– entrance gate–" _cough_ "–over–"

"Winry? Winry?!"

"Ed, I feel dizzy... I can't..." Her fingers went slack and she lost consciousness, her weight falling into his outstretched arms. Her skin was hot and feverish.

"C'mon," Ed said to Al. "We have to get her away from the smoke, whatever they did is making her sick. Can you clear a path?"

Al scanned the courtyard. "Not without breaking through walls."

"Do it," Ed ordered. His voice was so adamant, so determined that Al didn't argue. Al clapped his hands together and thrust them toward the courtyard wall, flattening them against the soot-stained stone, which crumbled upon impact. Clutching Winry's limb body, Ed darted through the narrow opening, only to find himself standing on the edge of a deep canal, the river whipping by below. "Careful Al!" Ed shouted in warning.

"Ed, I–"

The stone courtyard exploded; a fiery cyclone of hungry destruction summoned from the hand of The Dragon, as if he had forced the very air to spontaneously combust. Ed stumbled backwards, keeping his balance on the rocky precipice that dropped suddenly into the deep canal. Through the dancing flames he could see the dark silhouette of a man, his arms raised in furious triumph. "AL!" Ed yelled, drawing unwanted attention. The Dragon stalked forward like a beast through the flames, his hand thrust outward in preparation, clenching the medallion with the transmutation circled etched into it.

The flames surged, coming closer. "Winry," said Ed, retreating. She moaned feebly, her blue eyes fluttering half-consciously. "Hold your breath," he said – and jumped into the canal.

* * *

"Alphonse? Alphonse! Are you okay?"

Al smelled smoke. His mouth was dry, and his head felt heavy; peeling his eyes open, he glimpsed the sky overhead, darkened with suffocating black smoke. His bruised body ached when he tried to move it, a moan of distress escaping from his chapped lips. He narrowed his eyes against the onslaught of bright light in the darkness, gaslight – _no, fire light_.

"Al!" Her voice was high-pitched with worry; her hands soft to the touch.

"Mei," he managed, sitting forward. "What happened? Where's Ed– and Winry?"

Emperor Ling and Lan Fan stood above him, his arms crossed in concentrated fury as he surveyed the desiccation of the scene surrounding them; she, loyally guarding her master's back. "We couldn't find them," he said, his teeth gritted. "Not them, or the self-proclaimed Dragon. He escaped."

Al leaned against Mei's arm, bracing his back. Bodies lay strewn haphazardly in the rubble, some unconscious, some dead; _The Red Dragon_ was smoldering, the once-lovely stone courtyard crawling with the fierce Xingese authorities and two, confused Amestrian military personnel. "What'll we do with them now that their leader has run off?" asked Second-Lieutenant Ross, nudging a giant man with the toe of her boot; he groaned, his skin badly burned.

"Take them into custody," said Mei, when Ling failed to answer. "_The Red Dragon_ is finished."

"But what about my brother?!" Al asked, worry lacing his voice. Sergeant Bosch removed himself from a circle of teary-eyed women, huddled closely together in confusion, and extended a hand, which Al gratefully accepted. "We have to find them," he said, standing up – swaying slightly. His amber-gold eyes searched the sullen faces around him; Mei's, he noted, was the only one that harboured hope.

Gently, she touched his arm. "Alphonse, we've searched the wreckage, but–"

"I'll search again," he interrupted determinedly. "I don't believe that they're gone, I _won't_!"

Slowly, Ling turned to face him and nodded solemnly. "Okay."

* * *

Cold bombarded her senses, shocking her body into implicit action; she blinked, her eyes stinging in the acidic water, looking toward a pale, intangible light – the surface! – and kicked powerfully. Squeezing Ed's hand, she forced herself upward and broke the murky water's surface; she'd never been a strong swimmer, but survival instinct guided her and, gasping, she pulled herself onto the shoreline. It was rocky, pebbled with beads of eroded earth that clung to her cold, wet skin, and the silk _kimono_ which had impeded her ability to fight the strong current, but it was solid, dry. She laid on her back, gulping down breaths of air, her fingers still entwined with his.

"Winry?" said Ed, equally breathless. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah– I think so." She chanced a glance in his direction; his flat, muscled chest was undulating with effort, and his water-darkened hair was slicked to his forehead, wet skin bleached of colour. "Where's Al?" she asked. "He's missing."

Ed shook his head. "He's not the one who's missing, we are," he said. In indication his eyes moved forward, searching, and Winry followed their path. The river had carried them into the heart of east-end Xing; tall buildings with stone foundations and water-stained wood loomed threateningly above, belching black coal-smoke from decrepit old stacks; the air smelled like fish and gasoline, seagulls careening on the shedding vessels docked in the forlorn marina. "What time is it?" she wondered aloud; the moon crescent shone brightly, an opalescent white light in the thick darkness; hope, perhaps, or something more sinister.

Ed ignored her question; likely, he didn't know. She might have commented, insisting, but she soon realized that his ardent gaze was fixed upon something else, something unsettling behind her. "Fire," he whispered, his lips forming the frightening word in awe.

Winry pushed herself onto her elbows – she didn't see any signs of fire – and realized just what it was that he was staring at: _embers_, the footprints of fire smoldering on the hard ground. The Dragon! "He escaped?" she asked, watching Ed cautiously inch forward.

Holding his hand above the winking embers, he reported: "Still hot," and then stood. "He couldn't have gone far. I'm going after him," he announced, his fists clenched in determination. "He'll pay for what he's done."

"Right," Winry agreed. "I'm going with you."

Her declaration caught him by surprise. "Like hell you are," he said, facing her. "Winry, go back and find Al, he'll be with Ling and the Xingese authorities if we're lucky; you're in no condition to fight."

"I feel fine," she said, re-tying the slipping _kimono_. " I think that swim in the water finally cleared my head. Besides, I can't let you go alone, what if you get hurt – or worse?"

Ed sighed in exasperation. "Winry–"

"I worry about you just as much as you worry about me," she said stubbornly, honestly. "Probably more, since I'm not in the habit of doing really stupid – albeit, brave – things." She reached forward, but he sidestepped her touch. "Let me help you, Ed. I want to get this guy too, you know."

His forehead creased thoughtfully, but when he spoke his voice was resolute. "No. I'm not..." His words stumbled; he swallowed and tried again, admitting softly: "I'm not going to risk losing you again. Al will keep you safe."

"And you?" she asked, becoming fuelled; unmasked concern coloured her features. "Ed," she said, forcing herself closer; forcing him to look at her: "I love you." His shoulders fell, his expression morphing into something tormented, like someone drawn in half; his golden eyes watched her, lips parted slightly, his hands still bawled into fists, but he didn't – couldn't? – speak. Winry sighed, thrusting her hand upon her silken hip. "Look," she said, adopting a tone more familiar, "we really don't have time to argue about this, every second that we waste The Dragon gets farther away, and that's something I won't risk. I know that you're trying to protect me, Ed, but I'm not as fragile as you think; I know that my talents don't lie in combat, but I _can_ help" – _somehow, I know I can_! – "I want to make sure that that bastard can _never_ do this again," she said, her angry fists clenching the _kimono_. "It's not fair that I should be saved and others made to suffer."

Meekly, he nodded in agreement. "There's nothing that I can say, is there?"

She shook her head: "No."

Finally, – grudgingly – he sighed and closed the gap between them. He took her hand, squeezing a little too hard, relaying in his touch his displeasure with the present situation, and his unrelenting need, no– _promise_, to protect her. "Okay," he said, and pulled.


End file.
